Chapter 14

In just a few minutes Rogelio came into the den. "I'm sorry to not have been here when you arrived, but a cousin of mine called on the telephone, and I felt obligated to accept the call."

Kevin and Karin stood – Karin to give her father a hug, and Kevin to shake his hand. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Seguín."

"And to meet you, Mr. – Farley, it is pronounced?"

"Yeah."

"I sometimes have trouble with American names I have not previously encountered. Forgive me."

"Hey, that's not a problem, Mr. Seguín. But I do got a question. You got some sort o' Spanish accent, but not like any Mexican or Chicano I ever heard."

"That is because I am not from this continent, Mr. Farley. I was born and raised in Madrid, the capitol of Spain."

"Ah. So how'd you meet Mrs. Seguín?"

Rogelio looked fondly at his wife. "I will let her tell the story, as it pleases her greatly to do so."

"It does, indeed. It's the story of how a rancher's daughter married one of the Spanish aristocracy and lived to tell about it." She laughed at what seemed to be a familiar joke. "We were both studying at UCLA. My major was in astronomy – heaven alone knows why, since I never had any intention of becoming an astronomer – and he was learning to be a banker. We had one class together; it was a course in Latin American literature. My interest there stemmed from my childhood among Chicano cowhands, many of whom were as uneducated as you would expect but some of whom showed a surprising familiarity with a whole body of work most Anglos were completely unaware of. Rogelio was simply trying to figure out what had happened to the seed his country had scattered across North and South America." She paused and took her husband's hand – they were sitting side by side in two of the heavy chairs. "We had seen each other in class, but one day we found ourselves sitting next to each other. We fell to talking after class, and ... well, I don't think either of us had any choice about marriage. It was something we had to do."

"My wife somewhat exaggerates the inevitability of our marriage – but just a little. I was, at first, slightly reluctant. I am, after all, a member of the aristocracy as she has said. My family's wealth is not fantastic, but our house is ancient. I knew they would resist the match. But I am a younger son, and I was willing to forfeit my inheritance in order to spend my life with Delores, and so I consented to marry her."

"Don't let Dad fool you, Kevin," said Karin. "He's some relation to the Spanish royal family, and I've seen translations of some of their correspondence. They threatened to cut him off – and he threatened to cut them off. Growing up I never had to wonder what a loving marriage is like. I saw one every day."

The two parents looked at each other. There indeed was no doubt that they loved each other. It shone from their eyes, and dictated their postures. The way their fingers twined together was more eloquent than volumes of oratory.

Delores finally looked back at Kevin. "Well, Mr. Farley, either you are a master at steering a conversation, or you are a very sincere listener. We were supposed to be hearing about you."

"I ain't – I'm not – a master of anything, 'cept maybe fixin' a bike. But I am sincere. I'm still new at sincerity, but it's one thing seems to come natural to me, even if I can't figure out how."

"What do you mean?" asked Rogelio.

"I spent almost my whole life lyin', an' cheatin, ' and sellin' drugs, and stuff like that. Not everybody who rides a bike is that way, but I was in a motorcycle club – a gang, really. An' bein' a gang, we did all that kind o' gang stuff."

"I have no wish to experience such a life for myself, but it must have been exciting."

"It was excitin', Mr. Seguín. Sometimes it was too excitin'. That kind o' life can get you killed."

Delores leaned forward. "Have you come close to death, Mr. Farley?"

"Call me Kevin, okay? I'm too old to get used to havin' people call me mister." He smiled, for it was a sincere request. "I come close more'n once. I been shot, I been cut, I been clubbed, I been beat on with hands an' feet. It ain't a life for anybody that don't wanna get hurt."

"But surely you didn't seek out pain."

"No ... ma'am." Kevin stumbled over the word; he was working very hard at being polite, something he was still learning how to do. "Nobody that's got a brain wants to get hurt. But in the Skulls – my club's the Fresno Skulls – gettin' hurt is just part o' bein' there. I mean, you can't be a Skull, not a real live ridin' an' fightin' Skull, without gettin' hurt sometime."

"It sounds," said Rogelio, "as though it is a dangerous life."

"It is. I got a bunch o' friends – six, seven, I think – that're dead. You don't always live to get old if you're in a bike gang."

"But your hair is gray. You have survived."

"Yeah, an' sometimes I don't know how."

"I understand," said Rogelio, "that you are a Christian now."

"Yes, sir."

"How did that come to happen?"

"Well, the short story's that some guys was ... were ... huntin' me, an' a pastor snatched me out o' the line o' fire. After that I had to listen to him, you don't turn off a guy that's put his neck on the line for you, okay? An' God took what he said, and turned it around in my head until I got it. I'm still tryin' to understand it myself, you know. But He saved me that day. I don't know a whole lot, but I know that."

"Though I was blind, now I see," Delores said. "Are you familiar – Kevin, correct? – are you familiar with the hymn 'Amazing Grace'?"

"Yeah, I know that one. It's about the first one I learned." Kevin's smile was broad. "I know what you mean, ma'am. 'I once was lost but now I'm found, ' right, an' 'was blind but now I see.'"

"You quoted that very well – yet I understand that you have been a Christian for just a short time."

"Yeah. August 29^th I got saved."

"And yet you're already quoting hymns, and understanding them." Delores nodded her head. "I am impressed. How much of your knowledge is from Karin's teaching?"

"A lot of it. She's been a big help, Mrs. Seguín. An' she's teachin' me English too. I need a lot o' help with that, 'cause I dropped out o' school an' never learned nothin' ... anything."

Delores seemed ready to reply, but just then a maid appeared in the door and spoke in Spanish. Rogelio replied in the same language, and turned to his daughter. "It is a pity you never learned my language, hija. But since you did not, I will translate: Lunch is ready."

Rogelio and Delores rose, and Kevin and Karin followed suit. As they did so, Karin put her hand on Kevin's shoulder and leaned close to whisper in his ear. "When you're talking about people, Kev, it's 'who, ' not 'that.' 'A man who, ' not 'a man that."

"Okay, Kar. Thanks." It was hard for Kevin to whisper quietly, with his large voice, but he gave it a creditable effort.

The older couple led the way through what appeared to be a TV room – "media room," Kevin corrected himself, wondering where he'd heard the phrase – to the dining room. The table followed the pattern, heavy and wooden, with a brightly colored tile top that, Kevin realized, would both be easy to clean and resistant to the heat of pans right off the stove. There were four plates, and on each one there was what Kevin saw were enchiladas. As the four sat down – one to each side of the table, which wasn't, after all, that large – Kevin smelled the sharp pungency of red chili, that being the sauce on the enchiladas.

"If you would, Kevin," Delores said, "it is our custom when we dine as a family to join hands while we pray."

Karin was to Kevin's left, and Rogelio to his right. Kevin reached out his hands, and while he felt Rogelio's callused palm, the jolt came when Karin's soft fingers came into his, and then gave a strong squeeze. He could hardly concentrate on Rogelio's prayer as the impact of Karin's hand ran through him. Wow! he thought. I ain't never felt nothin' like this before!

After the prayer, everyone picked up silverware, and the maid – Kevin heard Delores address her as Concepción – asked in accented English what everyone would like to drink. Rogelio and Delores requested wine, and – after a glance at each other – Karin and Kevin did likewise. Rogelio nodded approval. "This is a wine from Spain. I learned to enjoy it when I was young, and would visit my family's lands in the Sierra de Guadarrama. We had sheep, and the herders would give me their wine, straight from the wineskins. I learned to drink it the traditional way – one holds the skin aloft, and directs the stream into the mouth. I learned, in Madrid, to appreciate the fine wines of Spain, France, Italy, and Germany, but even today I prefer the peasant wine I drank on hot summer days with my family's shepherds."

"You'll like it, I think, Kevin," Karin told him. "Something fancy might not be to your taste, but this should be acceptable."

"Well, never know till ya try, right?" He watched while Concepción filled his glass, then lifted it and tasted. "Hey, that's a lot better'n Ripple or Mad Dog!"

"Ripple? Mad Dog?" Rogelio raised his eyebrows. "These are American wines?"

"They're cheap rot gut, sir. You can get drunk on 'em, but no one drinks 'em for the taste."

"Ah. Well, one can become drunken on this wine, but the point for me is the taste. I enjoy sipping a glass of wine with a meal, or with a good book – or by the fire on a dark winter night with my wife beside me. Wine is a European custom, you know. I have lived in the United States for many years – I am a naturalized citizen – but I have never understood, nor become used to, the way many American Christians reject all use of alcoholic beverages. The Christians in Europe – and I mean Christians, not merely church members – drink wine with meals, and are not drunken." He smiled. "I have heard that on a visit to Europe, Billy Graham ate a meal with a family, and told them that they drank wine to the glory of God, while he did not drink wine, to the glory of God."

"I thought Christians weren't supposed to drink. That's what I'd always heard."

Karin handled that one. "A lot of Christians believe that, and if the choice is between being drunk or not drinking, I'll not drink. But the Bible never says, 'don't drink.' It condemns drunkenness, not drinking. Dad's culture is, really, more Biblical on that than ours is."